


soft brown eyes

by fluffysfics



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 1980s, Angst, Drunkenness, F/M, Ill-advised kissing, M/M, Pining, lotta hurt and not any comfort, mild violence, the Master’s time on Earth, very mild sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:36:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26307181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics
Summary: The Master is alone and miserable in 1980s London. He thinks there’s not much that could possibly make his years on Earth worse- and then one of the Doctor’s past selves shows up.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan), Tenth Doctor/The Master (Simm), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 73





	soft brown eyes

The Master stumbled out into the street at 2:33am, which was honestly a pitiful time of night to get kicked out of a bar. Just because he’d slipped up once and referred to the bartender as a ‘filthy human‘- _ugh_. It had been deserved, the man had been creeping on a group of girls who barely looked old enough to be in the place. 

Oh, and there he was again, with the _morals_. Getting angry at people because they ‘deserved it’, and not for the sole reason that they happened to look at him funny. Frankly, he blamed the Doctor. He blamed the Vault, which was the Doctor’s fault, and- well, everything was the bloody Doctor’s fault, wasn’t it? Everything about _him_ , a direct result of _her_. 

2020 couldn’t come fast enough. The 1980s were so...so boring, so plastic, compared to the previous decade. _Stars_ , what he wouldn’t give to be able to skip even five years ahead. Even one year. Anything. 

Still vaguely muttering to himself about humans, the Master stumbled towards the nearest bus stop, flopping down on the slightly damp bench. He didn’t need a bus. His latest flat was only five minutes’ walk away. But he wanted a chance to sober up a bit, get rid of the copious amount of ginger ale he’d consumed. 

He leaned over and pressed his forehead against the bus stop sign, the cool metal stinging his flushed skin for a moment before it started to feel _good_. 

Maybe he ought to catch a bus, after all. Hop on the late-night bus to...wherever, and start all over again for the hundredth time in...however many years. He was too drunk for counting things. 

“...Forty one,” he mumbled to himself after a moment. Apparently not _quite_ drunk enough for maths to become impossible. Maybe he should get _more_ drunk. End the night passed out in an alleyway. Wouldn’t be the first time. 

Unbidden, the Doctor’s face swam into his mind. The way she’d smiled at him, stepping out of her TARDIS and seeing him there in the outback. How impressed she’d been with every one of his bright-eyed deductions. 

He still wanted to impress her, the Master thought. He wanted to impress her more than anyone he’d ever seen. To earn her approval, see her smile because of _him_ , would be- it would be- 

Useless. She’d hate him, the moment she found out what filth he really was compared to her. Better to drag her down to burn on his level than try to raise himself to hers. He’d tried that for seventy years, last time around, and that had ended in fire and pain and betrayal. It always did. 

The bench dipped slightly next to him, and the Master looked up, prepared to snarl at a human until they left him alone. What he saw almost made him fall backwards in surprise. 

There was a tall, slender man in a trench coat and a blue suit sat next to him, bright red trainers kicking idly at a small rock on the ground. 

“Doctor?” The word was out before he could help himself. Between the flood of emotions and the ginger still making his head spin, the Master was impressed that he was still upright. 

The Doctor turned to face him, soft brown eyes crinkled with confused surprise. “Oh, hello. Sorry- do I know you? Time travel, always meeting people in the wrong order.” 

He seemed perfectly cheerful. It was _obviously_ a lie. 

“Yeah, you know me.” The Master didn’t elaborate any further than that. The shock had cleared away some of the fog over his brain, and he looked the Doctor up and down, evaluating. “Sorry for your loss,” he said. 

He blanched. “What?”

“I said, sorry for your loss.” The Master wished that this bench had a back. He felt unsteady, swaying every time he opened his mouth to speak. 

“Don’t know what you’re on about.” The Doctor made a vaguely dismissive noise, waving his hand. 

“ _Valiant_ attempt to hide, but you really haven’t _mastered_ your feelings yet. I can see you, going all sad behind the eyes.” 

The slightly forced puns did it, apparently. The Doctor’s face crumpled, tears filling those huge eyes and then...staying there, not spilling over. For a second, the Master was tempted to poke harder at the wound, twist the knife in deeper. If he could break any version of the Doctor whilst blindingly drunk, it would be this one. This one would shatter if anyone so much as looked at him the wrong way. Not like _his_ Doctor. 

“I know who you lost. Obviously. Tell me about him,” he demanded. 

The Doctor was still gazing at him with those teary eyes, but he complied. That was another thing about this one. He did what he was told. Whether it was a good thing...the Master wasn’t sure. 

“He’s my best friend. Well- was. Was my best friend. Back on Gallifrey. You know me in the future, did I ever tell you about Gallifrey? Beautiful, _beautiful_ place. The Master... I don’t know what I am, without him.” A flicker of hope crossed the Doctor’s face, and he leaned forward. “Do you know if he’s still around? He died, but- oh, he’s brilliant. He’s _brilliant_ , he could find a way around it.” 

His Doctor had never bothered trying to convince him that he was brilliant, that he was worth saving. It was a good thing she hadn’t. The Master was worried that a single kind word from her might be enough to shatter his resolve. 

Listening to her pour her hearts out to him as O had almost been enough to do that. He’d been teetering right on the edge of giving up on his plan, crawling to her and begging for forgiveness for what he’d been trying to do. 

But in the end, he’d remembered everything he’d found in the Matrix, he’d held his nerve, and look where _that_ had gotten him. Practically begging her past self for indirect compliments at a shitty bus stop in 1980s London. 

He looked the Doctor in the eyes, and shrugged, and tried to take pleasure in watching that flicker of hope die. He couldn’t. 

Sighing, the Master leaned back against that metal pole, a dull ringing sound vibrating through it as his head thudded against it. London was never quiet, even at this hour, but everything seemed to still for a moment as the sound rang through the metal. 

“I really thought,” the Doctor said, then shook his head. “Sorry. I’m so sorry, unloading my troubles on someone I don’t even know. You...you don’t care, I realise that.” 

Ha. If only he knew. 

“No,” the Master said softly, closing his eyes. There was a knot, right between his hearts, that seemed to ache and throb every time the Doctor opened his mouth. He’d felt the same knot back when he’d been playing O. “No, I do. I asked, didn’t I?I asked about him.” 

“I suppose you did.” There was a long, long pause. The Master almost thought he’d been left alone, but when he opened his eyes, the Doctor was still there, staring at him. 

“Am I that interesting?” 

“Yes,” the Doctor said immediately, passion suddenly flaring in his voice. “Oh, yes. Never met a person who wasn’t interesting yet. Especially humans. You lot, you’re _brilliant_.” 

He probably kept talking after that, but the Master had stopped listening. He couldn’t stand being complimented as a human. It was selfish, but he wanted to hear some flattery directed at _him_. 

Fuck it. 

“Doctor,” he said, cutting him off mid-ramble. He sat up straight, then leaned in, managing to focus his gaze enough to make direct eye contact. “Doctor, I’m drunk.” 

The Doctor blinked. “Well- _yes_. Of course. I can smell the-“ All of a sudden, the colour drained from his face. “The ginger...”

Penny in the air...

“Master?”

Oh, and there it was. 

“Hello, Theta,” he breathed. He was lucky, he realised, that his Doctor hadn’t responded to his requests to _say his name_ back in 1834 with _Koschei_. He would have sobbed in front of all those humans, and then he would have had to kill them all. 

Before the Doctor could get another word in edgeways, the Master surged forward, jamming their lips together. 

It wasn’t a _nice_ kiss. It was rough, and desperate, and he couldn’t help using his teeth, biting at the Doctor’s bottom lip until he tasted blood. He wanted to _hurt_ him. He craved affection. He craved _violence_. 

The first time he pulled away, the Master saw tears on the Doctor’s cheeks. And then he was gazing at him with those soft brown eyes so like his own, chasing after his lips like he needed them, and so the Master kissed him again. 

He felt a telepathic nudge at his mind, and vehemently refused it. This was physical, purely physical, and he couldn’t have the Doctor knowing anything else about him. He’d already said too much. Right now, though- he didn’t care in the slightest. 

The Master threaded a hand into that lovely, infuriating spiky hair, and _pulled_. He was rewarded with a whimper against his lips- the Doctor’s hands clutching at his shoulders- so naturally he did it again. This time, the whimper was almost a word, a name, breathed into the space between them when their kiss broke for half a second. 

He drew back. The Doctor tried to cling to him again, but the Master shook his head, taking in the sight of his best enemy. His hair was a mess now, and his bottom lip was swollen, bleeding in two different places. His eyes looked wide and glassy, _needy_. 

“Say my name,” he demanded. He knew the Doctor would. 

“Master.” It came without even a second of hesitation. No sneering, no fighting, no sarcasm. Perfectly genuine. “ _Master_.” 

He could do anything with the Doctor right now. Bring him back to his flat to spend the night, wreck him completely. Ruin him and shatter their whole timeline with just a few words. Kiss him again. 

It was no _fun_. Back when he’d been the self that had spent more time with this Doctor, he’d revelled in how much of a pushover he was. But now...now, he wanted a challenge. He wanted to make a demand and be scowled at. He wanted to kiss the Doctor and get bitten for his troubles, get a hand in his hair, pulling his head back and- 

“Fuck you,” he spat, and dragged the Doctor by his hair into another kiss. It lasted for all of ten seconds before the Doctor was pushing on his chest, trying to get him to pull away. Reluctantly, the Master complied. “What?” 

“What happened to you, Koschei? I won’t- I can’t ask how you survived, I know. I know. But this... I haven’t seen you like this before.” The Doctor shook his head, pressing a gentle hand against the Master’s cheek. He felt his insides turn to lead, burning and melting under the weight of the Doctor’s concern for him. 

“I- Theta, I-“

For a moment, he was tempted to let it all spill out. The aching inferiority, the desperate desire for someone to hold him, comfort him. The Master remembered when he’d lost on the Valiant, when he’d curled himself into the corner in fear and all the Doctor had done was take him into his arms. Maybe that was only days or weeks ago for him at this point. But for the Master, it had been more than a lifetime. 

He knew better now. Whatever he wanted with the Doctor, it was out of his reach. 

“I can’t tell you.” He looked down at the bench, suddenly regretting ever getting drunk at all. He wanted a clear head, but even thinking too hard made his thoughts spin and swirl. “I can’t tell you anything, Doctor.” 

The Master looked up again, forcing coldness into his expression. He could see the Doctor’s hearts breaking all over again. He could see the confusion, the hurt, the longing. He could see the _love_. 

The Doctor couldn’t ever love him. Not how he wanted to be loved. At best, he was roughly equivalent to a pet. At worst, more like a mud stain to be scraped off of their shoe. 

“Master, I-“ 

“Get on your knees.” 

It was remarkable, the speed with which the Doctor rushed to obey him. It was hateful. Not so much as a smirk, or a glare- just those wide, sad eyes, and then he crumpled to the floor like he was made to be there. 

The Master reached out, running a hand through the Doctor’s hair, pulling his head back just to watch him strain not to overbalance. 

“If you’d _kept me_ , like you said you were going to back on the Valiant, I would have had you doing my bidding in less than a week. I would have taken over, you would have been _mine_. So it’s probably for the best that I died.” 

The Doctor just stared at him, and for a long moment, the Master thought he wasn’t going to say anything. It might have been easier that way. 

“Oh, Koschei.” He shook his head sadly. “I’ve always been yours. Always. I’m so sorry.” 

Fuck. 

He couldn’t take one more fucking _second_ of this. 

The Master shook his head, disgusted, and got to his feet. His head spun; anger blossomed in his chest. 

“No. No, you haven’t,” he spat. _Always_ , from the Doctor, meant nothing anymore. 

His mind took him back to the Eiffel Tower; the Doctor’s throat in his grasp, the feral grin she’d pulled at him. This Doctor would probably have gone limp in his arms and started apologising. 

Fuck, he wanted an apology for what she’d done, stranding him here. He wanted to drag it out of her, word by painful word, and then he wanted to kiss her, feel her break in his arms. He wanted-

He wanted to _leave_. 

The Doctor kneeling in front of him couldn’t give him _anything_. 

“Fuck you,” he snapped, again. The Doctor just gazed sadly up at him. Still on his knees. The Master almost wanted to kick him, just to see if he’d get up and fight. Probably not. 

“Master. Stay with me. Please, stay with me, I-“ 

He turned on his heel and _ran_. It felt cowardly, it felt wrong. But his insides were on fire with guilt and hatred and misery and _want_ , and if the Doctor kept begging him to stay then soon enough he was going to say yes. 

The Master didn’t look back, didn’t stop until he was back in his own flat. He slammed the door behind him, breathing hard- and then he slammed his fist into the wall. Anger dropped over him like a shroud, burning away the miserable anguish eating into his hearts. 

When he finally calmed down, he was sitting on his mattress, gazing through tear-filled eyes at the wrecked remains of his flat. There wasn’t a piece of shitty cheap furniture left intact. Fuck. He didn’t want to move again, but now he’d given himself no choice. 

Closing his eyes, the Master slumped back onto the bed. The Doctor’s words still haunted him; the sight of him on his knees, desperate and pleading. He still hated that. 

He wanted _his_ Doctor, more than anything. Wanted to fight her, love her, break her down to nothing. Maybe his plan would succeed. Maybe when he got her back to Gallifrey, what he told her would destroy her as much as it had wrecked him. She couldn’t be calm in the face of all of that. Surely, she couldn’t. 

Oh, he wanted to know. He wanted nothing more than to see her, wash away the memory of her past self’s pleas for him to stay. 

But she was still almost forty years away from him. _Forty_. 

And he was going to have to live every excruciating second of it. 

**Author's Note:**

> sad pining time lords with big brown eyes fight: the fic
> 
> hope you enjoyed!! comments and kudos are very much appreciated <3


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